


Where You Lead

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Adults, Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, Banter, Diners, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Luke and Lorelai vibes, Mutual Pining, Painting, not childhood friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Longtime customer and friend Betty Cooper volunteers to help diner owner Jughead Jones spruce up his venue. He's never been great with change, but after a night of planning and pining with the 'peppiest' person in town, things will never be the same.Homages to Gilmore Girls within
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 86
Kudos: 216
Collections: 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards — Winners!





	Where You Lead

**Author's Note:**

> Gilmore Girls is my favorite tv show. I've probably watched it upwards of 20 times over in its entirety (excluding AYiTL which is an abomination in my eyes) and Riverdale has my heart so what better way to celebrate love than do an homage?
> 
> Many thanks to superstar beta @bugggghead for her sharp eye and wonderful encouragement. May your coffee cup never be empty!

The bell above the diner door rings and Jughead knows just by the sound of a hop-skip at the beginning of the determined march that it’s Betty entering. He straightens his spine and changes the coffee filter in anticipation.

For now, she’s alone, approaching the counter and leaning across it with her upper body while she drums her fingers on the just-cleaned surface.

“Keep your pants on, it’s coming.”

“Can’t.”

Confused by the response, he turns, met with mischievous, intelligent green eyes and a raspberry pink smile that ought to be on film.

_Or on him_, his traitorous brain adds.

He’s taken photos of her before—the headshots that her parents need updated annually for the Register’s ‘Year in Review’ edition, even the forced Stepford ones of the _whole family _they hang in their house or send out on Christmas Cards_. _Just for laughs, he usually sneaks Betty the bloopers where her parents are half-blinking or mid-order, their mouths flapping unattractively. His personal favorites are the ones of her _real _smile, usually coaxed out with quippy remarks just before he clicks the shutter. Those are the kinds of moments he saves as her contact information on his phone, where she’d programmed herself #1 on his speed dial as his _#1 customer_.

Betty wiggles her hips, arching the dangerous left eyebrow that’s made his knees buckle before, usually late at night when he allows himself to think about _things_. The expertise that comes from a lifetime of suppressing his emotions under a veneer of sarcasm is the only thing that keeps him from leaning over the counter and tweaking her happy cheeks.

_She’d said she can’t keep her pants on, _he reminds himself idly, waiting for the reasoning as to why she’s so impatient so his imagination doesn’t run away with him.

“I’m not wearing any.”

His throat runs dry. “What?”

Grinning rather proudly, Betty steps behind the counter (which she knows she isn’t supposed to do) and shows off the miles of bare leg below her hemline.

“Oh. Keep your _skirt_ on, then.”

Disappointment flickers across her face followed by a big sigh as she eyes the chocolate donuts.

“How many?” He pours a cup of coffee in her favorite mug and sets it in front of her seat now that he knows she can stay.

“None,” she laments, tucking her chin into her hands as she slides into what he’s dubbed _her _seat. “It’s a grapefruit and omelet kind of morning.”

“I’m telling you, eating all that healthy stuff can’t be good for you. Have dessert once in a while.”

“I do.” Her cheeks color the same hue as the strawberry milkshake they share almost every other night. They might not drink from the same straw, but they do share a meal.

“You need the extra energy to generate warmth for those legs of yours. Have a donut. On me.”

“Jug.” The sweet way she bats her eyelashes makes his chest ache.

A smile creeps up on his face and he has to look away lest he betray the character he plays: sarcastic diner owner with a heart made of hamburger meat. Using tissue paper, he grabs her the fattest donut of the bunch and lays it on a plate before writing her omelet ticket with a note to put it in a to-go box for when she inevitably can only manage half of it. “What does the fam want?”

“They’re eating at Mom’s today. They, um, they stayed over last night.” Her gaze drifts to the frayed posters on the wall and it makes him want to put down his work and hold her hand.

“Their loss. I was going to add blueberries to their pancakes. No free donuts for them.” He shoots her a wink, which seems to brighten her spirits. To fight the sting of familial rejection, he heads to the back to make her omelet extra special, despite Sweet Pea’s protests that he can manage. They chat through the cut window until her omelet is ready, at which point the bell rings again and Mayor Veronica Lodge strides in.

Betty’s friendly with everyone. Even before her coffee, she manages a perky, “Hey, V!”

Jughead doesn’t have to muster a glower for her _Majesty_ \- it just comes naturally. “What do you want?”

“For owning an establishment in the town with pep, you could stand to take some lessons on attitude from Bettykins over here.” She dusts off the stool next to Betty before sliding onto it. On occasion, Veronica is a patron of the establishment, probably just because she’s big on loyalty to the town and to her best friend and organizer, Betty Cooper. “I want to talk to you about the beautification committee.”

“Is this about my hat again?”

Betty stifles a smile with the palm of her hand and blinks at him, way too pleased by their banter.

“No. Although I still maintain that’s a hideous way to keep your hair out of everything. Do you wash it? Is there a health code violation?”

“Counter’s for customers only, so get to the point or get out.”

“Your place isn’t up to standard.” The prompt way she delivers the message is so businesslike. So incredibly _insensitive_. Veronica glances pointedly at the hanging fish on the wall. “The decor is…”

“Eclectic,” Betty chimes in, perking up. “It has personality.”

“Whose? There are at least five different motifs in this place. Between the ancient Twilight drive-in posters, the singing bass fish, and Pink Floyd album covers, it’s like being thrown into a blender of tacky–”

“Ve_ron_ica.” Betty sounds as offended as he feels, blood pressure spiking as his knuckles turn white.

Sensing the shift in mood, Veronica resettles in her seat. “I’m sorry. What I meant to say is, we have suggestions to make it more _peppy_.” An expensive black binder sneaks out of her purse and opens to neon pink color swatches.

“Oh, _hell _no.”

“You’re being obstinate.”

“You might as well ask Archie to jog with a shirt on.”

At the mention of her ex-boyfriend, Veronica bristles. “We put a lot of time into this place and _town_, Jughead. This isn’t some personal matter of taste. The board agrees.”

“What are you going to do about it? Fine me?”

“We _could_, but we’d rather you update. When’s the last time this place was even painted?”

His heart swells in his chest, steam practically pouring out of his ears. The last time was when his dad owned the place.

A sweet voice pierces the tension. “I could help.”

Heat and shock flare through his chest like she’s just opened a gash.

“I mean, just with a fresh coat of paint. I think Jug and I could find some color swatches to work with.”

Veronica tuts and pats Betty’s bare thigh. “Betty, you don’t need to–”

“_Fine_.” Before he can even fully process what he’s agreeing to, Jughead nods at Betty, stunning Veronica in the process. “If Betty’s involved, I’ll paint. But I’m not promising anything beyond that.”

“Oh my god,” Veronica gapes. “Betty. Jughead. Send me the receipt for the paint and I’ll write it off as–”

“Charity?” Jughead drones, but Veronica’s already excitedly texting somebody and halfway out the door.

Pinching the donut, Betty shrugs. “At least she’s paying.”

“It’s a total pain in the ass,” he warns her. “I’d have to close the diner. You’d have to take time off work.”

“We could do it at night. I’ll bring snacks.”

“I work at a diner,” he reminds her, bemused.

“I know, but it might be nice to have someone cook for you for a change.”

“Okay.” He eyes her, trying to suppress the smile on his face. “It’s a date.”

~~~

The potential of their project seems to inspire energy worthy of a batch of Christmas elves in Betty.

“What about this one?” She kneels on a stool and holds up a swatch, oblivious to the way some guy tries to look up her skirt.

“Get down from there. They’re all just _green _to me.”

Frowning, she flips through the tiles again. “Guys supposedly see fewer shades than women. I think this one is warm. What do you think?”

“I think I better agree or risk not being _peppy _enough.”

She rolls her eyes and prances over to the counter, eyeing him in a way that’s all-too-enticing.

“No more coffee,” he warns on gut instinct.

“But we might be up late.”

“To measure?”

She nods, ponytail swaying.

“I don’t think so. Won’t your carriage turn back into a pumpkin?”

She rolls her eyes and plants herself on the stool, where he presumes she’ll stay until he closes for the night. “I’ll be sure to wear something more comfortable than glass slippers in case I lose my ride.”

The town’s so small she could easily walk home, but it’s more fun this way—bantering.

Polly, Juniper, and Dagwood must still be staying with the Coopers, otherwise, he’s sure she wouldn’t have time for this. All of Betty’s talents seem to be on a constant rotation to help her friends and the town: sewing costumes for the school play, organizing booths for the fair, researching for the _Riverdale Register_, and volunteering at the community center. This might be just another way for her to pay whatever tithe she seems to think she owes everyone.

Betty quizzes him on what each color reminds him of, swatch after swatch of memories. The way she listens and weaves stories makes his heart sing. They’re so wrapped up in the game that by the time he gets to the tenth swatch, the diner’s nearly empty and he keeps renaming the options things like, “Steamed Broccoli” or “Swamp Thing.” He points to a color a bit richer than the rest. “A Good Morning.”

Betty blinks, surprised at the green card in her hand. “Did we find a winner?”

“We don’t have to, it’s just–”

“No, don’t be sorry,” she insists, pulling the swatch and marking it on the back. “Can I ask why this one jumped out at you?”

It takes him a few seconds to swallow since the reason is staring right at him, little flecks of honey gold swirled in the same shade.

That gold accent is what needs to be on the trim. Or maybe a shade of Caramel, like her cat.

“I...it reminds me of a friend.”

“A friend?” She tilts her head. “Anyone I’m familiar with?”

“N...I...gotta grab–” Without waiting for a protest, he hurries over to the last table of stragglers to collect their empty cups.

Thankfully, Betty lets it go, but keeps a wary eye on him as she measures and takes notes throughout the rest of the diner.

“Sorry about the crazy lady,” he announces loudly, earning him an unimpressed look from the blonde on top of his tables again. “She just showed up one day with paint cans and measuring tapes and said she was moving in.”

“You _wish_.”

The customers smirk and pay their bill, hurrying out to leave them alone so he can flip the sign in the window to _Closed_. A trembling works its way through his gut in anxious anticipation of potential _changes_ coming upon them. That sort of thing has never been easy for him. He likes things stable. Predictable.

_Intelligent. Fun. Sweet. Caring._

“Okay, so, I know you’re attached to a lot of the decorations, but is it okay if we maybe prioritize and reorganize them before rehanging after the painting? I think it’ll really help emphasize or..._clarify_ the personality.”

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to dissect what a singing bass fish says about my personality,” he muses, wandering over to her. “Come on, let me help you down so I can wipe your footprints off the table.”

“Sorry.” Betty steps backward so he has to hoist her down rather than help her.

His thumbs accidentally catch on her shirt, pressing into the faint strip of her bare midriff. Even the slightest skin contact makes him want to lay her out on the table and grind against her like a teenager.

He flushes, trying not to focus on the way her perfect ass brushes his jeans as she turns to face him. Why the hell did she wear a skirt to _measure _things? “H-hey.” He tries to adjust himself as discreetly as possible.

“Hey,” she says softly, smiling. The warm lights of the diner make her look like she’s glowing. Maybe it’s the lingering smell of pies and burgers that makes his head swim, embellishing how hungry he is and how sweet, engaging, and _tempting _his #1 customer is. Even the way her long lashes seem to reach out to him as her gaze slips to his lips feels like a dangerous hallucination.

“Betty…”

They’re close, so close he can feel the air move as she sucks in a breath. “Yes?”

“Thanks for...for doing this. You’re always helping this crazy town unify and–”

“It’s my pleasure.” The silky tone of her voice runs over his back with the relief of a warm shower after a long day. She has _never_, not _once _looked at him like he’s Southside trash or some prince of a businessman or anything other than...a friend.

Maybe more than a friend.

Maybe.

_Maybe_…

The jingle of the doorbell makes him jump about a foot in the wrong direction as Reggie pops in, camera flashing.

“Ronnie wants ‘_before’ _pics–”

“Get out!” He snaps the dishrag from his back pocket and whips it across the diner.

Reggie flinches, using the door as a shield before sticking his arm out to take a flash photo in defiance. “Ronnie’s right. You do need some pep.”

All it takes is one step in Reggie’s direction for him to bolt back down the steps and across the street.

“Idiot.” He locks the door, keeping out anyone else with any bright ideas about invading his space and shaking things up. Of course, one of those people is already inside, but at least she seems to give a shit about his personal preference.

As he watches Betty steal into the kitchen with a sly little smile, he wonders just how deep he’s already _in _at this point.

“We don’t need to repaint the kitchen, do we? It’s...nobody sees back there.”

“What about you and Sweet Pea? Don’t you want something nice to look at in what is arguably the heart of your restaurant?”

“Grease is nice,” he says, voice wobbling about an octave higher than normal as he drapes himself across the door frame. Watching her wander around makes him want to pace or clean up or pick her up over his shoulder and carry her back out to the main room–or, the evil part of his brain supplies, the meager apartment he keeps upstairs.

Her fingertips linger like she’s learning every nick in the wood and metal, cataloging everything in some intimate knowledge of her favorite restaurant.

“You...measuring by touch?”

Flashing a smile at him, Betty seems to recede into her own thoughts, wading through everything like they have all the time in the world. Normally, she’s so efficient.

“You said this used to belong to your father?”

“Yep. So did the singing bass fish. So did a lot of the decorations, actually.”

Her ponytail goes sleek against her back as she angles her neck to map out the ceiling like there are stars up there. “That’s so great that you have this...connection to him.”

A couple of months ago, she’d sold the car her father and her had worked on when she was in her teens—the baby blue vintage that had Reggie salivating. It’s not Jughead’s place to ask about it, nor whatever trade-in she arranged. It might’ve been because things were tight for her and Polly or it might’ve just been too many memories to deal with on a regular basis.

~~~

The breakdown is still fresh in his mind - when he foolishly thought her invitation to a nice dinner meant maybe she was interviewing him, either for the paper, or as a...a psuedo-date. He’d broken out his singular sport coat, put on aftershave, and even placed his beanie aside for the night. She was waiting on the diner stairs in a little black dress.

“I thought I was supposed to pick you up,” he managed, the breath knocked out of him at how stunning she looked. That _wow _factor quickly dissipated once he realized she was shaking.

Still, she smiled, all warm and glowing in the same way butter melts in the microwave. “You look–you’re amazing. You have _hair_.” She chuckled wetly, reaching out to touch the curl on his forehead before seeming to remember herself and clenching her fingers into her palm. “I just–I’m so sorry, you got all dressed up and I can’t–I have to reschedule.”

“Okay.” Disappointment settled low in his gut. If responsible Betty Cooper was blowing him off, she probably had a good reason.

“I’m _so_ sorry.” Her teeth slid across her pink lipstick like they couldn’t contain the trembling flesh underneath. Beautiful green eyes glazed over with bright, shiny tears.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he urged, completely forgetting his own pain and taking her into his arms.

Body wracked with sobs, she collapsed into him, breaking down in a way he’d never seen before. It gave him some strange sense of stability to be the one she clung to. When they slunk into a booth, he made her a hot cup of tea, which had her weeping about _disappointing him._ He assured her he didn’t want to wear a stupid sport coat anyway.

“I’ve failed them,” she sniffed, wiping her cheeks. “I failed everyone.”

“You haven’t failed anyone.”

“No, I have. My parents. Polly. The twins. Even _you_. The whole town...”

“Hey. Stop beating yourself up.” He rubbed her shivering arms in the hopes she’d feel better just from contact.

“No, I have! Everyone expected me to be a valedictorian, or some kind of Master’s, married with 2.5 kids and a stable job where I could provide for my family. Instead, I didn’t go to college. I volunteer at a community center where I didn’t even fit the Hallmark movie heroine and get together with the nice, single guy who worked with at-risk kids.” The mention of Archie made his tongue swell, but he ignored it in favor of comforting her. “I try so hard to be a great aunt, a great _asset_, but all anyone ever sees is what they want me to be. Some perky blonde who helps everyone out, but I can’t even seem to help myself.”

“Help yourself what? You’re fine.”

Her gaze slunk to the table. “Polly and I had a fight. She’s moving, says she needs more out of life than what we built together.”

He leaned back, slinging an arm around her. “What?”

Resigned, she rested her head on his shoulder and the smell of her fresh, fruity shampoo hit him in full force. “She said she’s sick of being Riverdale’s charity case and dealing with my…” Betty picked at her palms. “Dealing with being _the single mom _in town. She wants what’s best for her family.”

“You _are _her family.”

“_Was_, I guess.” Despair fading into embarrassment, Betty turned her face into his sport coat as if to hide. “I just...I really thought I could have it all.”

“You will. One day, you will. I promise.”

They were quiet for a few minutes.

Swallowing hard, she placed a careful hand on his leg. “There are not many people I really _have _in my life–people who stand by me, who I’d...stand by.” He found that hard to believe. “I thought I had Polly. The twins, obviously. There’s Kevin, Veronica, maybe, and...you. At least, I think–”

“You do,” he said firmly. “You have me.”

He held her until she was calm enough to walk her home, his sport coat hot and heavy around her shoulders.

The next day, she didn’t come in, but the day after she appeared with baked goods and a dry-cleaned blazer with three rain check offers for dinner that he couldn’t accept. Their friendship meant too much to both of them and he wouldn’t ruin it by _expecting _anything. Even her wounded doe eyes couldn’t convince him otherwise.

In a few weeks, Polly seemed to figure out her new boyfriend was trouble and the Coopers were controlling, so she was back to bouncing off of Betty for babysitting duty, which left the blonde too overwhelmed to niggle him for anything other than coffee.

Things slowly went back to the way they were. Once in a while he still catches her staring at the booth she broke down in, looking pale, but otherwise, Betty’s someone who doesn’t hold onto humiliation. She tightens her ponytail and faces her challenges. The biggest one facing him was reigning in the urge to take the next step in their relationship and risk ruining everything. Her heart was for her family. He’d just get in the way and probably get burned.

There had been times over the past few years that he thought _maybe _things could work. During a picnic fundraiser, she’d all but dragged him out to bid on her basket and subsequent date for fear of being stuck with Trev (a much younger guy with a crazy crush whose sister she dealt with on a regular basis and would probably kill her for hurting him), Reggie (who was known for being handsy), or Dilton (an intensely strange Eagle Scout who brought up all his skills on the regular).

His annoyance at being dragged away from the diner to spend whatever was in his wallet on a date quickly faded as soon as they sat by Sweetwater River to enjoy the meal. She’d really only made simple toasted sandwiches and chips with some fruit salad, but it tasted even better with laughter on his tongue. Apparently, she’d also been strong-armed by her friends into participating to _put herself out there_ to help the fundraiser and her own stagnant love life. There’d been a moment–a _few_ moments–when he thought maybe they should do this kind of thing more often. Of course, once they’d gotten on the subject of dating, Archie’s date stormed off on him and Jughead swooped in to save the abandoned picnic basket. She’d seemed too embarrassed to resume the conversation and checked on her friend before returning to two empty picnic baskets. At least he got his money’s worth in food and conversation.

When his old high school flame showed up to the diner out of the blue to crash on his couch, Betty had introduced herself as “_His_...his friend.” Not customer. She’d adjusted her ponytail and gotten this wide-eyed tightness in every interaction like she was about to follow him into the back and demand answers.

The first time JB came into town in forever, he’d scooped her up in a hug and swung her around only to have Kevin, who was standing next to a blushing Betty, ask _who the hell _could inspire hugs from the _unflappable _Jones.

The frequency of her visits might just mean she’s hungry in a town with exactly three options for food fare. The way they gravitated towards each other in town meetings, especially when she didn’t have to bring Polly or the twins, could be interpreted as friendliness, of course. Even the plate of desserts she’d bring over after each holiday he’d inevitably turn down his invitation for could be reasonably be seen as spreading holiday cheer. No matter the occasion, he could always claim it as just sweet, friendly, Betty behavior, because she did something similar for Veronica and Kevin, who happened to get along and could therefore hang out as a trio in most cases.

But she did other things, too, like buying him flowers despite his protests. Though he’ll never tell her, he always keeps them in the back for him and Sweet Pea to look at throughout the day.

The vase is ready for the next batch, whenever that is. She’d gotten that for him, too—hand-painted it, actually, when he’d originally used the lack of anywhere to put them as an excuse.

She’s thoughtful that way.

She’s thoughtful in all ways.

Most people would just walk by the little ticks on the door frame indicating his and his sister’s growth throughout the years, but Betty notices, exhaling a laugh when she notes Sweet Pea had added his own mark a few inches above them all.

“Sorry about the mess.” He ruffles the back of his hair through his hat, feeling warm. “We’re kind of organized chaos back here. One time, Dad couldn’t find a notepad so he wrote an order on the wall.”

“Really? Where?”

“I don’t know. Behind the counter somewhere.” He shrugs, enjoying the way she eagerly follows the clue. So much about her screams _Nancy Drew_.

“Hot Dog! Awwww,” she coos, sitting down by the food order hastily scrawled just above the baseboard: out of the way, but ever-present. “Is this how you named him?”

“Sort of. There’s a new Hot Dog carrying on the legacy with my sister on her Ren Faire circuit.” He settles down on the floor with one arm behind her as he re-reads the short order. “It was so like my dad to write down this order any way he could. I think he actually etched it in with the back of his spatula or a switchblade.” She giggles, knocking into him with her shoulder. “I’m serious. This place gave him a life after prison. We were so proud of him. Pop was, too. That’s why he left it to him. A legacy.”

“And FP left it to you.” She squeezes his knee, reassuring and sweet.

“Better than the name, anyway.”

They both burst out laughing, her head bowed forward. “I can’t believe you never told me the real thing. I had to look it up _yearbooks_. You still had this beanie.” She tugs on it affectionately, sending a drip of molten glee down his spine.

“Listen, you’ll be seeing this beanie in my obituary. It’s a part of me. I’m weird like that.”

She shakes her head, ignoring his morbid comment. “Maybe we could add a crown insignia.”

“On my tombstone?”

“Above the stove.”

“Sweet Pea will hate it, which means I’m in.” He grins, leaning back against a cabinet to admire the way she looks, framed by potato sacks. The room should be prettier just to be worthy of her being in it.

“And Jug? I know we’re making changes and all, but maybe we can skip painting _some _areas. Like this,” she gestures to FP’s order, “and the height chart. This room seems to hold a lot of precious memories.” Her hand lands on his leg, now outstretched in front of him.

“Yeah,” he says, his heart pulled taut like a slingshot. “It does.”

Her happy green eyes flick to his lips.

Whatever’s inside of him snaps. He doesn’t know who leans first, but it’s probably him, considering his hand is up and in her hair before he even registers he’s moving in. It can’t be held _in _or _back_.

He'd always pictured this moment as romantic or passionate, but it just kind of swells like a gust of unexpected wind. Her lips part, caught somewhere between surprise and what he hopes is delight at a decidedly not platonic gesture. Heat radiates in his chest and he lingers, sucking just hard enough to be present without being insistent.

This could be it. The end of their friendship.

As her lips curl into a smile, forehead pressing into his, he thinks maybe they’re safe.

“Jughead…”

It takes a moment for him to remember he should open his eyes, still savoring the _feel _of her under his hands and lips.

As soon as their eyes meet, he’s struck with the swelling urge to kiss her again. She beats him to it, fisting his collar and pressing their bodies together until he’s lost in fitting himself around her. Lost in Betty Cooper _kissing him_ on the diner’s kitchen floor.

With a little moan, Betty startles, putting about an inch of space between them. Her eyes go wide, kaleidoscopic and wild. “I…” She drops his collar, scooting back. “I should go.”

“Why are you apologizing?” As she stands up, Jughead struggles to coordinate enough to do the same. “Why are you _leaving_? Was it something I did?”

“No. No, of course not. That was...amazing.” Taking a deep breath, she strokes his cheek, looking lost until she wraps around him in a hug. “I just have to figure some things out.”

He stays quiet, gently rubbing circles on her back. After a beat, he adds, “Like how many paint cans to get, or…?”

She chuckles, her body rippling against him, before she releases the embrace and goes into efficiency mode. “We can do two coats and see how that looks. I’ll bring brownies and–”

“Betts.” He tugs on the end of her ponytail, her lashes parting automatically. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” she breathes. “I loved it. I love…”

His whole body tightens, tingling, and he’s not sure what the hell his expression is, only that the moment Betty sees it, she clamps her mouth shut, kisses his cheek, and leaves.

~~~

The morning brings Betty's anxiety to astronomical levels. Jughead’s shocked, apprehensive expression as she'd started confessing her feelings to him is still firmly ingrained in her mind as she gets ready for the day. Skipping coffee is unthinkable, but she’s not sure she can face him yet.

It figures that she’d find a way to screw up the best relationship she’s (n)ever been in by repressing everything for so long that when they'd finally kissed her emotions bubbled over.

Jughead’s got a great sense of humor, though.

He’ll probably smirk at her, tell her _that’s his effect on women_ and give her a donut. But where do they stand? If she hadn’t left last night, would he have invited her upstairs? Are they better off as friends?

Years of internal will-they-or-won’t-they amidst the eternal tug-of-war with any semblance of control over things in her life has her nerves frayed to the edge.

She could just _check _on him–see if he was avoiding her gaze when she got back,or laughing it off, or maybe treating her more intimately than just his _#1 customer_. When her friends feel like prodding her, they always insist she’s Jughead’s best _friend_ and even though they’re pretty sure he’s got a crush, he’s resigned himself to hermit/monk status. Some people in town even gossip that he’s asexual, despite the very pretty girlfriend he had in high school.

Whatever he is, Betty loves it.

His sarcasm, his intelligence, his genuine, tender care, his passion and flare, all of it’s drawn her into his orbit so effortlessly and permanently that she never wants to imagine her life without him.

Wincing at the skirts she’d thrown about last night in an attempt to find something she'll feel good—and maybe entice him—in, Betty selects some jeans and heads out through the empty house as quickly as she can.

The diner’s _packed_ with the brunch crowd. Normally, she either comes early or late on Sundays to avoid them, but her sleep-deprived body demands coffee. The heat and flurry of people and food makes her heart pound even harder at the possibility of being rejected in a crowded room. Just as she’s about to slink back out, the splash of something overpouring alerts her to Jughead’s presence. It seems to take him a full second to pull his eyes off of her and apologize for the spill. Hurriedly, he swipes the counter with a wet rag.

“One minute.”

“I’ve been waiting five.”

“Then what’s one more?” he huffs, clearly stressed as he slams the coffee pot into the machine for a refill.

“Do you need some help?” she offers, half-joking, mostly sympathetic for the blur of chaos.

“You’re already...painting.” He blinks, tugging at the suspenders by his waist like he can’t decide whether to pull them up or not. “What can I get for you?”

“Um, coffee,” she admits, glancing at the machine. Awkwardness pools in her gut at the people still waiting for their orders or a general seat. His diner has the best food in Riverdale, Greendale, _and _Centerville, so it’s no surprise there’s a crazy amount of people.

“Right.” He exhales in a not-quite-laugh. “So...you still coming by this evening?”

“If you want me to.”

“For painting?”

“Um, that was the plan.” She blushes, awkwardly standing by what’s usually her seat. Jughead glances at the man sitting there like he’s wondering if he should kick him out or something. “I was going to bring finger sandwiches or–”

“Finger sandwiches?” His haggard expression momentarily lifts in amusement. “Like the picnic?”

“_Or_,” she continues, twisting her hair out of nerves at the reminder of what Kevin refers to as her and Jughead’s _first date_, “some kind of pot roast-carrots-mashed potato conglomeration so we don’t have to use our hands.”

“Could I get some?” the man in her seat asks. “I don’t think we’ll be getting food here any time soon.”

“Keep your shirt on. Sounds good, Betts. I’ll, uh–I’ll get wine or something.” He scratches just under his beanie, unable to keep eye contact.

“Do _you _like wine?”

“No, but–”

The coffee machine beeps. He jumps to it, grabbing someone’s breakfast from the panel window and sliding it down the counter on the way. Everything’s organized chaos and she’s still edging closer to the counter to make room for more people to fill in while he handles three other things before getting to the coffee. As Jughead hands her the to-go cup, their fingers brush and heat rises in her cheeks.

“Thanks. Um, see you tonight, with or without the wine.”

“See you tonight.” He nods with a tight smile, already power-walking to tend to someone else’s order.

At the very least, she feels _fine_ about their interaction.

Later in the day, once she presumes the brunch crowd has passed, she calls the diner to ask if she can borrow the truck to pick up the paint.

“Are the cans heavy?”

“Yeah, but they’ll have someone help me carry them to the truck.”

“I can–or _we _can get the paint together.”

The planner in her wants to protest that someone should stay behind to take everything off the walls and wash it first, but the romantic in her wants to do something strangely domestic like go to the store together.

“Okay. Do you think–would Sweet Pea or the other staff be okay washing the walls and laying down the canvas or should I do that?”

“We’ll–I’ll figure it out.” Jughead sighs on the other end. This is the most stilted conversation they’ve ever had.

“Okay. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

The click of the diner’s old-fashioned phone hitting the receiver makes her want to thud her head against a wall. Why is everything so complicated?

By the time she goes back to the diner, she’s in productive mode, already having finished her work for Monday. Most of the stuff from the walls appears to have been taken down throughout the day and carefully wrapped in Kevin’s old tarps.

Jughead, for his part, looks like he’s running on pure nerves, shouting something at Sweet Pea about closing up. He takes her aluminum-foil-covered mashed potato casserole upstairs to stay warm for_ second dinner_ in his personal oven and runs right back down.

“No wonder there’s never any time for painting. Usually, you work seven days a week, practically twelve hours a day,” she tells him, sliding into the passenger side of the truck. “I almost feel guilty that you had to plan to stay up half the night with me.”

“There are worse ways to spend my time.” His gaze stays fixed on the road like he’s afraid to meet her eyes. They speed as much as they can get away with to make it to the store before it closes. Thankfully, since Kevin often needs her help putting together sets and organizing projects, she knows exactly where to go to get what they need.

“You’re sure about the color?” she confirms, showing him the swatch one last time.

He swallows, holding her gaze with a magnitude that makes her gut tighten in anticipation. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

They shift their weight as the clerk gets the cans ready. It shouldn’t take long, but she’s still nervous about the tension between them. She’s not sure if it’s _sexual _or...if he’s freaked out by her attention.

Just as she reaches for the end of her ponytail, Jughead draws her attention to a display of crayons and coloring books nearby. “You think the twins would like to get in on some coloring action? Or should we get two so they don’t have to share?”

The sweet gesture makes her melt a little. He’s always been generous for their birthdays and patient at their parties, despite having to endure her parents and occasionally their asshole ‘father.’ Most of the time, she tries to thank him for being there for the twins and for her with an extra-large piece of cake and anything else she can think of.

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” She examines the display with him. “Maybe we can get them one of the big kid books with more complex designs. My mother’s been trying to force them to listen to classical music to expand their minds. Personally, I’m fine with a break from the latest Disney movie soundtrack.”

He chuckles and flips through some options. “Maybe I’ll get one for Sweet Pea.” He holds up one titled _F*ck off, I’m Coloring_, spinning through the pages to display flowery swear words and intricate lines.

She laughs a little too loudly for the near-empty store and pushes his hip with hers. “He’ll _love _that. A fun little _thank you _for helping with the paint.”

“What about you? You want an adult coloring book, Betty?” He nudges her with his elbow, gesturing to some of the more lewd options.

His teasing smirk makes her heart flutter with the intensity of hummingbird wings so she busies herself deciding which crayon box Sweet Pea might want. “Me? No, I don’t need anything.”

He tsks his tongue in admiration. “Always doing everything for everyone else. But what do you need?” Breathing heavy through her nose, she dares to look up, pinned by his caring intensity. His dark blue eyes flicker down to her mouth before refocusing on her gaze, his question soft and sincere. “What do you want?”

Just as she’s leaning towards him, the clerk calls out, “Your order’s ready!”

Flinching, they look at each other and simultaneously grab the coloring materials before going to the checkout.

“I couldn’t help overhearing. You two have twins?” the clerk asks.

Betty’s used to people asking about her hypothetical kids all the time, but she’s sure Jughead isn’t buying stuff that would invite that conversation more than once a year, for their birthday.

“My sister does,” she answers hurriedly, flashing an apologetic look at Jughead. Surprisingly, his lips are curved up at the edges.

They pay quickly and get copies of the receipts for Veronica’s records. The drive back is a little more relaxed, with animated nostalgia about attempted household projects they’ve both worked on.

“Home renovation was never my forte. Come to think of it, maybe we should’ve asked Andrews for help,” he says idly.

The idea of sharing the workload makes sense. The idea of sharing _Jughead_ is less appealing.

“There’s still time to ask, if you want.”

“That’s awfully noncommittal.”

She shrugs, looking out the window to the town that’s become her extended family. Her and Archie may not have developed as more than friends, but she knew Jughead had been close with him, too, in the past. Fred still comes into the diner on a regular basis but Archie seems a little shyer about stepping in.

Jughead shakes his head as they turn in towards the diner. “You know, Fred did the first coat with my dad.”

“It lasted a long time. They got their money’s worth.”

“Yeah. I want _this _to last.” She peeks over at him curiously, but his expression is unreadable as they pull to the diner. It takes her a second to realize why he hurries around the truck to her side–to open her door.

“Oh! Thanks.” Even though she doesn’t need it, she takes his hand as she slides out. “So...we’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this.”

Without thinking about it, she wraps her arms around his neck in a hug. It’s so good to be held _back_.

Sweet Pea loves the coloring book, both Andrews men come over and refuse to be paid in anything but pie to repaint the diner, and Jughead devours the mashed potato casserole. He licks his fork clean in a way that makes Betty flush and wonder how much less painting they’d get done if they were alone–especially with how delectable he looks in just a tank top and ripped jeans. For once, the beanie is safely up in his apartment for safe keeping. As expected, his hair is _fantastic_.

Everyone’s exhausted and a little delirious by the time the first coat is done. The Andrews laugh and reminisce with Jughead about building a treehouse as kids. It makes Betty happy to see them all so comfortable with each other again.

She sneaks off to the back to wash the brushes and reseal the cans to let them bond and mend and do whatever else they need to do.

“Bye, Betty!” Fred calls from the other room. “Congratulations on getting this guy to paint.”

She rolls her eyes and calls out her own farewells from the back.

Then it’s just them. Alone. Again.

After smoothing her hair, Betty joins Jughead in the main part of the diner where the blinds are closed and the walls are shining. “How do you like it?”

“I love it,” he says, his voice full of warmth.

_Love_.

She stiffens at the word, embarrassed.

“Betts?” He crosses the room to run his thumb gently across her cheek, where she thinks there might be a paint splotch. “About what you said yesterday…”

“I know. I’m sorry, I–I practically have a meltdown every time I open up and I shouldn’t have put that out there for you to deal with.” She still has some lingering embarrassment from sobbing on his shoulder after Polly left.

“Deal with?” Jughead chuckles, shaking his head incredulously. “I–I’ll admit it was a lot to take in but I–”

Apparently, slipping into stilted conversation was inevitable for them. But the moment she looks away, Jughead guides her face back to his with a gentle kiss.

Her hands are on his wrists when she comes back to herself, feeling stretched and sated and almost _dizzy_.

He looks at her like he feels the same. Then, as if to finalize it, he says, “I’m in. I just wanted you to know...I’m all in.”

Relieved, she closes her eyes and kisses him again. Happy tears slip down her cheeks and she’s smiling so widely that she’s sure his lips are hitting her teeth. They giggle in between their attempts, testing the waters, slowly slipping into more passionate embraces, clutching each other tightly.

“It’s late.” She scratches his neck, curling his silky hair in her fingers. “I should go. You have to work so early tomorrow.”

“I’ll call in sick.” He nuzzles into her neck, teeth pinching her skin just hard enough to make her bounce and groan.

“Oh, Jug, I’d love to stay, but–”

“Stay.”Wild-eyed, he pulls back, firmly grasping her face again until they both can breathe easier. “Please. You should stay. Tonight. Forever. Whatever works for your schedule.”

Shocked and delighted, she throws her head back and laughs. “Here I thought _I _was coming on strong with the _I love you_ stuff and–”

“I love you.” He pauses, swallowing hard and raking his gaze over her as if to make sure she’s still standing there. “I—I’ve never said that to anyone before and I didn’t know how it would sound, let alone feel.” As if he’s testing out the weight of it on his tongue, he says it again, “I love you, Betty Cooper.”

She’ll never get tired of hearing it. Not from him. With a big grin, she hops up into his arms and wraps her legs around his waist. They kiss so deeply that she’s only vaguely aware of him carrying her towards the apartment stairs, accidentally bouncing into the corner. Paint sticks to her shirt, but at least it’s not in her hair.

Tearing her lips away, she tries to look over her shoulder. “Should we fix that?”

“Leave it. I want it as a reminder,” he pants, hoofing it up the stairs. “Besides, we can always wash your shirt. You can wear one of mine. I’ve always wondered what you’d look like in one of my flannels.” She quirks an eyebrow, intrigued by the notion of wearing that and nothing else. “Or…”

“Or?” She grins, tightening her legs around his waist as his gaze drifts down to her chest.

“Or maybe…” He looks up, dark eyes clouded with the question.

“You won’t be the only one calling in sick tomorrow,” she assures him, leaning in for a kiss as he stumbles the rest of the way up, and if she’s not mistaken, there’s definitely an extra pep to his step.

Flinging the door shut behind him with his heel, Jughead hoists her higher up in his arms to get a better grip. “How do you feel about breakfast in bed?”

“Favorably.” She’s torn between kissing him senseless and looking around the studio style apartment. “I'll have whatever keeps you in bed the longest."

He laughs, kissing her throat as he lowers her onto the blue full-size bed in the corner. “Your presence pretty much guarantees that." As he strips, her heartbeat skyrockets in excitement. The line of downy hair under his belly button looks so soft and welcoming that she can't help but run her hand through it. He smirks at her eagerness. "Any requests?"

Breath hitching, she parts her knees and whips her shirt over her head, careful not to smear paint on his floor or her arms. “You. Just you."

He shoots her a playful, mischievous smile and flips open the button on his jeans, gently caressing her jaw. “I have to eat, too.”

Betty scoots back onto the mattress, practically vibrating with excitement as they pull at each other's clothes. They've been working around this particular appetite for _years_ and it's about damn time to indulge in what she anticipates to be a lifetime of devoted, hot camaraderie and cravings.

**Author's Note:**

> How lovely would it have been if Lorelai and Luke actually got their painting party on the show? *sigh* ANYWAY. How did you all find this fic? Fluffy? Any favorite moments? I want pie. That's not sexual. Just a fact.  
Also, the coloring book they got Sweet Pea DOES in fact exist. The little joys of life – like comments :D  
tumble with me @lovedinapastlife


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